


The Weight of Living

by nerdiekatie



Series: The Weight of Living [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Batfamily (DCU), Batman: A Death in the Family Fix-It, Gen, Ghosts, Injury Recovery, Jason-centric, Platonic Relationships, Recovery, Resurrected Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdiekatie/pseuds/nerdiekatie
Summary: Jason climbed his way out of his own grave. His father found him. Now he's home and recovering. But there's also the matter of the ghosts haunting the manor."Dick relaxed and smiled. 'Yeah,' he said. 'The manor’s haunted. If you listen really hard, sometimes you can almost hear them.' He patted Jason’s shoulder. 'Don’t worry, though. The ghosts here are friendly. I can tell.''Ghosts aren’t real,' Bruce said definitely. He reached forward and tapped Jason’s sheaf of paper. 'The evidence says so.'"If you're new to the series, I definitely recommend reading the previous story first. For a speed run, read the 1st and 7th chapters before hitting up this story.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne
Series: The Weight of Living [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495328
Comments: 59
Kudos: 300





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as always, shout out to my beta, xcourtney_chaoticx. you're amazing

Jason was cold for weeks. He fumbled his way into his thickest sweatshirts and coziest socks, ignoring Thomas’s apologies every time he pulled on another blanket and Martha’s praise during his exercises. Now that they knew he could see him, they were incessant. He tuned them out from sheer spite, but when he looked at them, he felt something warm in his chest. The contradiction exhausted him. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out the mystery of their presence.

His first reaction was anger, thinking he was being lied to. Jason had dealt with a lot of shit, but ghosts were never on Batman and Robin’s radar. Hell, as far as he remembered, they were never on the Justice League’s radar either. But the more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. Uncle Clark was a flying alien. Aunt Diana was a literal demigoddess. It was possible, even if only very slightly, that ghosts were real. And living with them. And calling him darling.

Just like Thomas and Martha said, the others couldn’t see them. Once, Jason could have sworn that Dick heard Thomas fretting over his ribs, but his gaze swept right past them and he walked away. The elder Waynes weren’t even trying to hide. They stood next to the residents carrying on one-sided conversations and flitted around the manor like they still owned it. On a whim, he dragged Dick _through_ Thomas, just to see what would happen. He gaped in shock when the collision he expected didn't happen. All either of them did was shiver.

Jason decided more research was in order. All the good intel was in the cave, so Jason opened the clock on muscle memory and descended. He had to sit down halfway down the stairs, exhausted. Martha sat beside him, keeping up a steady chatter, when he heard someone yelling for him.

He braced himself with a deep lungful of air and forced out, “There!”  
Then he frowned, frustrated. That was the wrong word. He tried again, searching for the right one, but it just wouldn’t come.

“Where!” Goddamn it, now he sounded lost.

He decided to try a different tack, but yelling that loudly was pretty hard and he needed a break. He was trying to calm his lungs when Bruce swooped in out of nowhere, like the paranoid bat he was. Jason was immediately checked for injuries and then pulled into a hug. He had gotten a lot of hugs, lately. He wasn’t really complaining, but it did seem… different.

When Bruce carried him back up to his room, there were a lot of questions. Were you going to the cave? What did you want? Why didn’t you get one of us? Blah blah blah. Jason shrugged. Answering those questions required more words than he was willing to string together.

* * *

The next day, Dick stole him, carried him to the cave, and set him standing on the mat. He paid attention and learned the boy next to him is Tim. He had the feeling that he learned it before. He had forgotten a lot of things, lately.

Dick had him hold onto a bar and point his toes. Jason made a face at him. He was a fighter, not a dancer. He tried, but it was hard. It was really, really hard to stick his leg out and make his toes curl the way Dick seemed to want him to. The smile Dick gave him when he managed to point his foot and curl his toes at the same time was really nice. The feeling of satisfaction settled deep in his belly.

When he got tired, he sat down on the mat and lied back. It smelled gross, like sweat and feet, but he was used to it. He felt Dick nudge him with a foot, and he cracked open an eye.

“Time to move, Jaybird,” his brother said. “We need to use the mat.” Jason closed his eyes again. He was tired. He wasn’t moving. Suddenly, there were hands on him and he was rolling until he hit stone. He glared at his brother. It took him a minute, but he got his middle finger up. Dick, the bastard, just laughed. Ugh. Jason closed his eyes again as the sounds of sparring started up.

What was Tim doing here? He never really thought about it before. Tim had just been there, hiding quietly and unobtrusively by Dick’s side. He was pretty sure he didn’t know him, but he was also pretty sure the kid was harmless. But it was weird that he was in the cave. He didn’t think about it when they came down, too excited to be back downstairs, but now it was all he could think about. Why was Tim here?

The conclusion slammed into him. They wanted to give away Robin? No! Jason was Robin. He made a wounded noise from his spot on the floor. The sounds of sparring came to a stop.

“Jason?” Dick asked. No. Jason didn’t want him. Not if they were getting rid of him.

“Jason?” Martha asked from her place on the sidelines. Jason didn’t want her either. He stumbled to his feet, swaying a little. He made a dash for the elevator. He wasn’t exact when it came to pressing buttons, and it stopped on the first floor. Alfred was already there, waiting. Did Alfred know? Alfred knew everything. He had to. Jason’s eyes burned. He turned his head away, and the doors closed just as Dick came dashing into view.

As soon as the elevator opened again, he ran down the hallway for his room. He slammed the door closed behind him. He pushed the lock, glad it was nothing more complicated. He was shaking everywhere as he dropped to the floor, head in his hands. He could hear Dick banging on his door and trying to twist the knob, but he didn’t care. They couldn’t- They couldn’t replace him! He knew he used to be better and stronger and smarter, but he thought…

He just thought he was still worth it. The banging on the door stopped, but Jason kept sobbing until he exhausted himself into sleep on the floor.  
He woke to the gentle feeling of something cool running through his hair. Martha. His face felt achy and hot and miserable, but her fingers felt nice. He had been ignoring her, but he let her continue.

“He’s awake,” Thomas said. Jason looked at him directly for once, and he patted his ankle from his place on the floor. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jason shook his head. It was nice that they were here. Martha hummed and they fell into silence.

Bruce knocked on the door. “Jason? Can I come in?”

“No!” Jason shouted. He didn’t want Bruce if Bruce didn’t want him. He didn’t want to be hurt more. Bruce tried again, only for Jason to shout him down again. Jason cried when he no longer heard him at the door. Jason was so unloveable that Bruce just left.

His hiccups calmed and his tears dried cold as Thomas wiped them away.

* * *

Okay. So the ghosts- if they were ghosts- weren’t that bad. It was actually kind of nice, he thought, listening to their encouragement as he made his way slowly down the stairs to the next day’s breakfast on his own. He was interrupted, though, by Bruce scooping him up in his arms. He wiggled, trying to get away.

“No,” Bruce said. He set Jason in a kitchen chair. “Do you remember crying last night?”

Jason turned away. He didn’t want to talk about it. Bruce reached out and used firm but gentle fingers to turn Jason’s face back to face him.

“Why were you upset, Jaylad?” As if Bruce didn’t know exactly why Jason was upset. Bruce was replacing him! With some random kid! First Robin, then what? Was the kid going to want his room next?

Jason stared at a point over Bruce’s shoulder and refused to answer. His father sighed heavily, but he did release Jason’s chin. Jason counted it as a win until he squeezed his shoulder, and then his heart betrayed him by doing funny flopping in his chest.

Dick came to get him that afternoon. “Hey, Little Wing,” he said. His shoulders were low, hunched, and his voice was soft. Dick was always larger than life, but now, Jason’s brother looked small. “Do you want to go to the cave today?”

Jason looked away. “Why?” he asked bitterly. Why bother when they didn’t want him?

“I thought we could work on the barre some more,” his big brother said. “You and me and Tim.”

Jason took a moment to connect Tim’s name to the boy who was stealing everything from him. Then, he was up in a flash, moving past Dick to the elevator. His brother hurried behind him, chattering away, but Jason could barely hear him over the rage in his blood. It tunneled his vision and pounded so hard he could feel his pulse in his teeth.

In the cave, Dick tried to herd both of them to the barre, but Jason planted himself on the mats, facing _fucking_ Tim. He put his hands up.

And he waited.

There was more talking, more meaningless noises. Tim hung back, afraid. Good. It was Dick who stepped forward and reached for his hands. Fuck no. This wasn’t about Dick. Jason snapped forward, sending Dick’s lax, sloppy form over his hip and onto the ground behind him.

The replacement was heading for him in a second, but he was no better than Dick. His tells were obvious; his movements lacked conviction. Jason got one in his face and two in his ribs before he felt Dick coming up behind him. He lashed out with a leg, but Dick was quicker than he was. Jason was fighting on two fronts now, and he was frustrated, because Dick could have had him but he held back, like he didn’t want to hurt Jason, like he hadn’t already driven the knife in and twisted it.

Jason yelled and lashed out. Dick was constantly in his way as he fought to get to the kid. He almost landed a few good hits, but Dick always managed to redirect them so they barely glanced off his skin. A new opponent entered the fight. He was big and looming, and Jason turned around to dispatch him only to hit a solid wall of muscle as arms closed around him.

He thrashed, trying to get free, but he could only headbutt his captor’s chest. Hot tears streamed down his face as Bruce brought them to the floor. He snarled in defiance and tasted salt on his tongue.

Bruce murmured to him, low and soothing. Jason didn’t want to be soothed. He wanted his dad, but his dad didn’t want him, and being the subject of this false kindness just made him weep wretchedly, snot joining the tears on his face.

He cried himself into sleep, and when he woke in his bed, Bruce was holding his hand.

“Go away,” he said hoarsely.

“Son-” Bruce started, scooting his armchair even closer.

“Go away!” he screamed.

Bruce blinked at him. His face showed nothing. He squeezed Jason’s hand once, before leaning over and kissing his forehead. He shut the door behind him when he left, and Jason turned his head into the pillows and cried. Bruce’s kiss felt like a brand, but he wanted to keep the memory of being loved for as long as he could, even if he knew it was fake.

He felt ice on his scalp as his curls were gently stirred. “Darling,” Martha crooned. “What’s wrong?”

Jason shuddered and gasped and searched for his words. “Robin,” he forced out. “They don’t want- Replace me!” His hand scrabbled futilely in the sheets, and Thomas reached out to hold it. He knew this by blurry, tear-filled sight more than the cool stroke of Thomas’s incorporeal hand.  
The chilly touch at his head moved down to his back and started making large circles. His breath nearly froze in his chest, so he burrowed a little further under the covers.

“Darling, no,” Martha said. “Never. They could never replace you.” Jason took a shaking breath. He wanted that to be true so badly, but he rejected it just the same. “Tim just wants to help,” she pressed on. “That’s all he wants. You’re Robin, sweetheart. You’re magic. No one can ever take that away from you.”

Jason sniffled. “Really?” he asked pitifully.

“Really,” Thomas said. When Jason wiped the tears from his face, he was smiling gently. “Do you want to see your dad?” Jason nodded, and Thomas was gone a moment later. Martha shuffled him up and off the bed, and she steadied him as much as she could when he stumbled. Crying was exhausting. He should do it less.

“He’s in the batcave,” Thomas said, appearing again. He offered his arm to Jason, and Jason, for some reason, took it. It was like resting his hand on water. It had tension, but if he just pushed a little, he’d break through. It was weird, but it wasn’t bad.

He let go of Thomas when he exited the elevator into the cave. Everyone stopped to look at him.

“Jason?” Bruce asked. His face had tension he couldn’t decipher. He broke into a run and slammed into his father.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He felt a warm, human hand stroke down his hair and cup the back of his head gently.

His father shushed him warmly. “It’s alright.”

“Tell him,” Martha said at his elbow.

Jason took a deep breath and tried. “I thought… Robin. I thought you wanted… give him Robin. I thought… you wanted me.” He shook his head. That was wrong. That wasn’t what he meant. “Gone,” he tried. His words were running dry.

Bruce gently pushed him back. He knelt down so they were eye level and cupped Jason’s face in his hands.

“I want you,” he said. “I will always want you. Robin or no Robin.”

Jason made a quick, sharp inhale. Bruce wanted him, but he didn’t want him to be Robin. It didn’t make sense. The brief sense of relief was quickly being overtaken by the hurt, but Bruce stroked a thumb along his cheekbone and called out to him.

“Jay,” he said “Tim isn’t Robin. It’s just self-defense lessons.”

Jason felt himself slump in relief. Bruce was quick to catch him. This time, when Bruce hugged him, all the complicated, contradictory feelings were gone. It was just Jason and his dad, and it was good.


	2. Chapter 2

The mystery of the ghosts nagged persistently at Jason, now that they had helped him with the Tim Situation. He was getting to the point where he didn’t need to lay down and rest after afternoon barre sessions, so he dragged himself to the batcomputer instead. He wiggled the mouse to bring the monitor to life. The light from the screen blazed into the cave’s darkness, and he flinched away.

So what if Dr. Thompkins had mentioned screens being bad for him? So what if he had to squint at letters swimming on the screen? Jason had answers to find. 

The keyboard was easier to see than the monitor, but the letters were still so small. He squinted at them, too, and henpecked at the keys slowly. Once he was logged in, he input a database search for ghosts. 

His reading was even slower than his typing. He had barely read a paragraph into the first entry on ghosts before Bruce appeared over his shoulder. 

That should have been where Bruce demanded answers.

Bruce did not. He barely even asked questions. 

He rolled his son away from the computer. Jason pouted as he hung onto the seat for the short ride. He wasn’t finished, but he also wasn’t going to win a fight with Bruce. (Also, and he wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but he had a headache now. Doc Thompkins was right. Go figure.)

“Ghosts?” Bruce said. Jason couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he would bet his father had that faint wrinkle between his eyes that appeared when he was assembling haphazard evidence into a sustainable conclusion. He clicked a few buttons, and suddenly Jason had a ream of paper in his hands. The print, he noticed, was huge. 

“Can you read that?” Bruce asked, and Jason nodded, already scanning the page. He could. It was just- 

Even if the print was large, and the letters didn’t swim on the page, and the light didn’t pierce straight through his eyeballs into his brain- 

It was still hard. He tried to read silently at first, but the words got jumbled around in his head. He began reading out loud instead, one word at a time. A heavy hand lay on his shoulder, making Jason lose his place. He looked up at Bruce, surprised. 

Bruce’s face was all creased up, and his eyes looked shiny. “You’re doing great, Jaylad,” he said, his voice thick. “Keep going.” 

Jason grumped a little. He didn’t need to be interrupted for nothing. Now he had to start over. But he did, and he had to admit it felt nice when Bruce squeezed his shoulder. 

After a few pages, Jason’s eyes were too tired to keep going. He leaned forward, pressing his hands into his eyes. For a few moments, there were only the sounds of the cave-the soft rustle of sleeping bats above, the thin trickle of streams below, Tim’s heavy gulps of water at the end of a sparring session- then Thomas’s mellow voice resumed reading where Jason left off. A small smile pulled at his lips. He appreciated Thomas reading; when Jason’s eyes stopped aching, he could pick up and not have wasted any time. 

“Ghosts, huh?” Dick’s voice cut Thomas off. “Did I ever tell you how the manor is haunted, Little Wing?” 

When Jason snapped his head up, Dick and Bruce were wearing the same sappy expression. They exchanged a glance with each other, but the shared pride on their faces was directed at Jason. It was definitely weird, but he didn’t have time for that. 

“Tell me,” he barked, drawing the attention of his beaming brother back to him. 

Dick broke off his exchange with Bruce, surprised. Then his eyes crinkled, and he relaxed. 

“Yeah,” he said with a fond, indulgent smile like Jason was a child to be coddled. “The manor’s haunted. If you listen really hard, sometimes you can almost hear them.” He patted Jason’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, though. The ghosts here are friendly. I can tell.” 

Jason frowned and narrowed his eyes. Did Dick know? It seemed unlikely. He’d walked Dick right through Thomas for fuck’s sake, and Dick had only shivered.Then again, sometimes when the ghosts spoke, Dick would tilt his head like was listening them. Martha had called him _sensitive_. Maybe that had something to do with it? 

Tim interrupted his train of thought. “Are there really ghosts?” Tim asked from his place on the floor. He wiped water from his mouth and took a deep breath. 

Dick shot him a grin, one that made Tim give his own small, shy smile in return. Jason was familiar with the potency of Dick’s grins. Even strong, surly bastards like Bruce and Jason struggled to resist their power.

“What?” he crooned, making pitiful puppy eyes at Tim. “Don’t you believeee me?” Jason would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t so focused on the conundrum of Dick and the ghosts.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Bruce said firmly. He reached forward and tapped Jason’s sheaf of paper. “The evidence says so.” 

“Detectives should trust their instincts,” Dick volleyed back. And Bruce- Bruce _smiled_. 

Jason blinked. He didn’t remember Bruce ever looking at Dick like that. Dick usually made Bruce angry, or sad, or… distant. Ghosts forgotten for the moment, Jason sat back and watched. 

* * *

Jason took weeks to read his papers. When he lost half his stack, Bruce printed it all out again and put it neatly in a folder, which Jason carried around with him as he worked his way through the contents. Jason’s reading got faster as he progressed through the material, but he was helped considerably by Thomas and Martha reading to him when his eyes got tired and his head felt like cotton. 

When he was done, all the evidence agreed with Bruce. Ghosts didn’t exist. Except- 

He reached out and his hand passed right through Martha’s. Again. Just as it had every time he tried. And no one else could see them, not even Dick... And they hadn’t aged since the portrait in the foyer was made. 

Bruce’s evidence didn’t say anything about that. 

So, Jason looked Martha in the eye and said, “Take me to your grave.” If there was evidence anywhere, it was sure to be there. Right?

Martha balked. There was a light pressure on his hand, like she was trying to squeeze. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. 

Jason frowned at her. Fine. He didn’t need her to get this done. He would get his answers without her. He left his folder behind and headed to Bruce’s office. Martha followed him, wringing her hands. He knocked on the door out of habit, but he didn’t wait before he barged in. 

“Take me to Martha’s grave,” he said. 

“Jason, please,” Martha interjected. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, and Jason knew that mild expression for one of surprise. It was hard to surprise the Batman, and he reveled in it a little. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bruce said stoically. Martha exhaled in relief while Jason huffed. That was the same answer twice in a row, and he was suspicious. 

Bruce looked at him consideringly and gestured towards Jason with an open hand. 

“Tell me why,” Bruce offered. 

Jason wrangled a lie (and his tongue) under his control. “She’s my grandmother,” he said. 

He watched Bruce soften. Still, he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, sport. Maybe some other time.” Then, he smiled and beckoned Jason over. “Come sit with me. Let me tell you about her instead.”

Jason frowned. He knew when he was being distracted, but Bruce rarely talked about his parents. With Martha right beside him, encouraging him to sit with a fond smile, Bruce’s stories were an intriguing prospect. He sat down beside Bruce to listen, but he vowed that this wasn’t over.

* * *

Jason struck out the next day. Thomas followed him out to the gate, trying to convince him to turn around. Jason walked for fifteen minutes before stopping and sighing. He’d forgotten. This was Bristol. There were no bus stops. He shrugged and decided to keep going. It was early morning, so he had plenty of daylight to burn. 

He still had a lot of daylight left when Dick pulled up in a car and proceeded to freak out at him. He sounded a lot like their old man, so Jason smirked and told him so. 

Dick’s words spluttered to a halt and then picked right back up as he denied how much like their father he was. Back at the manor, he ushered Jason into the family parlor and practically sat on him. Bruce was home not long after, and he had- get this- the same questions as Dick. 

“Why did you leave?” 

Jason looked at him with as much reproach as he could muster. “Told you,” he said scornfully. “I want to visit Martha.” 

Bruce’s jaw clenched, and Dick just looked confused. Bruce exhaled deeply and lay a hand on Jason’s shoulder. 

“You can’t leave the house alone. I don’t-” his voice choked and Jason ran his eyes over his father’s face in confusion. Bruce never choked. He never broke down. He was a force of nature. Shit, he’d probably fight a force of nature and win. So what could hurt him so much that he was choking on the words? 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. 

Bruce’s face crumpled, and it was too weird for Jason to bear. He reached out past Dick’s clinging arms to hug his father, and Bruce did that thing he did lately, where he cupped the back of Jason’s head like he was a baby and then held him close like he couldn’t get enough. Weird. 

“You won’t,” Jason said, still nonplussed. That shook a noise loose from Bruce’s throat, but it wasn’t a happy one. He held on a little tighter, and then Dick joined in for some reason. 

The hugging was nice, so Jason resigned himself to letting it happen. Even if it was sweaty as all hell. 

* * *

Jason never _actually_ promised to not try again. That was what he told himself as he sneaked down to the basement to avoid Dick, who had stationed himself by the front door. 

“Please don’t do this,” Thomas said, finally making it below the house as Jason approached one of the motorcycles in the cave. He sounded tired, like he always did downstairs. 

Jason grinned at him and flashed him a thumbs-up. He did this- used to do this?- all the time. He had been driving these for years. He’d even driven the batmobile. It would be great. And with a head start, they wouldn’t be able to catch him this time. 

Except, it had apparently been longer than Jason remembered. He rode out of the cave at top speed and leaned into the curve onto the main road. He felt the muscles in his core shake, and suddenly the bike tipped lower and wider. He barely remembered to throw up his arms to protect his face as the asphalt approached.

And then he wiped out. 

His left leg was wrenched off the bike, and he felt something pop. His right knee hit the ground, and the back wheel ran over it. His arm, covered only in cotton, skid over pavement, and he rolled with the force. 

Shit. That fucking hurt. He stayed curled up with the pain of it. He panted as the shock faded, and the pain really flared up. Long streaks of heat tore down his limbs, burning as they came into contact with cotton, denim, and road. Tears welled in his eyes and dripped down his nose, and that just made him angry. He hurt, but he wasn’t a baby. He shouldn’t be crying.

Wheels screeched to a stop nearby. 

“-son! Jason!” Dick. He sighed softly in relief, no more than a short puff of air through his nose. Dick would help him. 

“Oh, Little Wing,” he exhaled softly. Jason could feel the heat of his hands near his road rash, and he jerked away with a grunt. 

“Thank god,” he said, and then fingers poked at Jason more insistently. “Can you hear me?” he asked as he probed his neck and then his back. Jason grunted again in response. 

“Okay, good. Brace.” Jason did as instructed and swallowed down a wave of nausea as Dick lifted him into the backseat of a car. The molded seats pressed into him uncomfortably, and the medical cot Dick laid him on in the cave was only slightly better. He hissed through his teeth as his clothes were cut away and his wounds irrigated. Fingers pried open his eyes, and he flinched away from the light. Beyond it, the world was a blurry disjointed mess, and he closed his eyes again to shut it out. 

The low ringing in his ears set in as Jason was x-rayed, and in the aftermath, he didn’t hear Bruce arrive in the cave in a flurry of panic. He did feel himself being hauled into a lap and held tightly. The motion and the extra body heat against Jason’s scrapes felt miserable. He tried to squirm away, but Bruce didn’t loosen his grip. 

“You’re grounded,” his old man said over the noise in his head, his nose pressed into Jason’t hair. Bruce rocked the two of them lightly, and Jason could feel he was shaking. The realization filled him with dread. 

“I will take you to see Martha,” Bruce promised. “But I need you to trust me and wait.” 

Wait. Jason could wait, as long as he stopped hurting and Bruce stopped being scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always appreciate comments <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings at end

Whatever Bruce may have feared Jason would get up to, he was too busy dealing with the nausea and the blurry vision and the ringing in his ears to even think about sneaking out again. He couldn’t remember a time he felt this bad, even though he knew he had been in casts not that long ago. He spent his days lounging on the couch as Thomas and Martha made makeshift ice packs of themselves. 

So it was a surprise when Bruce looked at him over breakfast and announced, “We can visit Martha today.” 

Jason blinked at him. He wasn’t prepared for that. He squeezed his hand around his fork. 

“Today?” he tried tentatively. He wanted this, but the unexpectedness of it jarred his brain. It was like a train ramming into a barrier. He had been derailed.

Bruce nodded and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Yes, champ. Take your time. We’ll leave when you’re ready.” 

He nodded slowly. Okay. He could do that. 

Jason thought about it as he got dressed in his room. They were going today. They were going _today_ , when he was ready. His smile came on slowly. As he tied his shoes the way he practiced with Alfred, he was nearly bouncing. 

“We’re going!” he told Martha and Thomas. They weren’t nearly as excited as he was. 

“Yes, darling,” Martha said. Her eyes were downcast as she laid a chilly hand on his cheek. He pressed into it. 

* * *

Bruce’s face was stony, still, and unchanging, from the moment Jason told him he was ready, through the drive, to the moment he parked, pulled up the hood of Jason’s sweatshirt, and slid a pair of sunglasses on his face. 

“Stay with me,” he said. His voice was quiet and tense. “Don’t run off.” 

Jason nodded. Sure. He could do that. He was bouncing lightly in his excitement. He was close to _something_ , he could taste it. Jason scrambled out of the car but stayed by the door, just like Bruce said, and when Bruce came around, he grabbed his hand. Jason looked down at their twined fingers and grinned. He squeezed once, and he saw the corners of Bruce’s lips turn up. He still looked glum and grim, but at least Jason had achieved that much. 

Jason pulled Bruce forward eagerly, though he slowed down by the gate. His eyes skated over the dark iron. It was weirdly... familiar. 

As were the pale faces on the other side. It was a heady case of déjà vu that made Jason feel unmoored in the moment. He slowed down even as Thomas stepped forward to greet them just inside the cemetery. 

Jason heard the murmuring of the other… people like Thomas and Martha. Ghosts, he guessed. 

“It’s alright,” Thomas said, squeezing his shoulder. “They’re just excited around visitors.” He looked Jason directly in the eyes as he spoke, and that made Jason frown. _People are more likely to look in your eyes when they lie,_ his mind told him. Bruce had taught him that during training. 

The ghosts definitely didn’t _seem_ excited about visitors. All of them maintained a careful distance as the living walked by. He became increasingly uneasy as they moved deeper into the cemetery. The déjà vu grew stronger as he passed a cluster of obelisk-style grave monuments. There was a sense of recognition for the grave covered with a marble ledge marker. The stone at the head read Araminta Kane, and the grave’s resident waved merrily. 

As they approached the back of the park, Jason saw a cluster of ghosts. They were jostled and shoved, like something in the center was trying to escape, but every time they were pressed back, they simply pressed back in. 

He was inclined to investigate, but they had finally arrived at the double memorial stone that marked the final resting place of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He had been looking forward to this for weeks, but something else had already grabbed his attention. 

There was a blank green space between graves, and it felt wrong. Jason untangled his hand from Bruce and stepped into it. He saw it then, a stone angel, weeping over her clasped hands. Lightning illuminated her face into something terrifying and grim. Jason choked suddenly, trying to pull in air. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Warm hands grabbed his and moved them so he could feel the distinct _thud-thud_ of a beating heart. He sucked in a ragged gasp of air as the chest expanded. 

“- and out, Jason. Good. Good job.” 

Oh. Bruce. 

He kept pace with his father for a few more breaths. There was no lightning, no storm, no rain chilling his skin and dragging him down. The sky was clear and blue, and the air tasted like gasoline and dirt but that was just Gotham. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come,” Bruce muttered lowly. He had yet to let go of Jason’s hands. He changed his tone and said firmly, “Come on. We’re leaving.” 

Jason planted his feet and pulled back against Bruce’s grip. He wasn’t going. He needed to know why this space felt so important to him.

 _She_ appeared instead, sitting on the grave next to him. She held a ghostly cigarette between two fingers. Her mouth was curved in a sharp line, and her eyes were greedy. 

“How’d you do it, kid? How’d you come back?” 

Jason knew her. He knew her, but he didn’t. He had seen her before, but all his brain brought up were flashes, disjointed images. 

She exhaled cigarette smoke through pursed lips. The smoke was the same color as the crowbar that flashed in dim light. His body burned, and with his last breath of air, he gasped-

“You.”

* * *

Bruce carried an unresponsive Jason away from his former grave site. Martha decked Sheila. Dr. Thompson made a rushed home visit. The household became quiet and somber. Alfred resumed issuing quiet orders to move him about his day. The rotation of reading resumed at his bedside. For a week, Jason noticed none of this. 

When he came back to himself, it was an accident. 

It was the mirror. From the top, the scar was just another scar. But in the mirror, he could recognize its distinctive form. He dropped his shirt in the half full sink and raised a hand to his sternum. The scar was smooth, white, and flush with his skin. He traced it as it branched underneath his collarbone. He knew this pattern. He’d seen it in pictures of victims, lying unnaturally pale and still on examiner’s tables, autopsy notes catalogued neatly below. 

_How’d you come back?_

His breath started to come in gasps, and he felt like he was choking again. He hunched over the sink, hand clawed and digging into his chest. He started gagging, because there was something in his throat- wet, soft, clumpy. His mouth tasted like dirt, and he hacked as more kept coming. 

The door slammed open, and Jason barely managed to flinch while he still struggled to breathe. He was hauled back against a warm, broad chest. He still couldn’t breathe, and his head was growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen. 

He couldn’t-

He wouldn’t-

Not again-

He reached his fingers down his throat, desperate to clear it. A hand wrapped around his wrist, but it was too late to stop the vomit that splashed down onto Jason and the foot braced beside him. 

Jason heaved stringy bile, but at least he could feel his body expelling the obstruction in his throat. He panted as he came down and his head cleared enough to feel a hand rubbing his chest and the steady pattern of breathing behind him. He rolled his head and looked up to find Bruce. 

Bruce gave him a tight lipped smile. “Feeling better, Jay-lad?” he asked. 

Jason stayed quiet. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to sleep. He buried his face into his father’s neck and closed his eyes. He barely felt Bruce shifting behind him, but he flinched away from the warm cloth that gently swiped over his chest. 

“Son?” 

No answer. Bruce sighed, a puff of warm breath over Jason’s forehead. 

* * *

Jason stayed withdrawn. The manor regained an equilibrium around him, but Jason himself felt unbalanced. The scales in his mind were weighed down by an oppressive thumb, unable to find their balance. 

He sat cross-legged on his bed, looking at his cupped hands in his lap. Even scarred, they were warm and soft and not anything like the hands of corpses he had seen. 

And yet-

"I died," he said quietly. The statement hovered in the air for a moment, like the last note from an orchestra. An ephemeral hand reached forward and rested lightly on his knee. The small chill barely bothered him anymore. He was used to it. 

"Yes," Thomas said solemnly. "You died." 

With Thomas mirroring Jason’s cross-legged position right in front of him, Jason didn’t have to tilt his head too far to see his face from the corner of his eye. 

“You died. You’re a ghost.” Those were facts now. Intertwined, inescapable. Jason had died. Jason could see ghosts. Ghosts like Martha and Thomas, and everyone else at the cemetery. It made sense as much as anything else did. 

Thomas nodded. “Yes,” he said, squeezing Jason’s knee enough that he could feel it, however slightly. 

* * *

Jason walked to Bruce’s study on socked feet. He remembered being able to move silently through the manor, but now every step made a soft sound of rustling carpet. Whatever. He had been dead. It was a miracle he was walking at all. 

He opened the study door without knocking. Bruce could be mad some other time. Jason wanted to talk to him now. 

“I died,” he announced, and Bruce’s body language became very careful as he set down his work and stood up from his chair. 

“What makes you think that?” he asked, coming closer. 

Jason narrowed his eyes. Bruce had better not try and bullshit him. He’d had a pretty shit week coming to terms with with his own fucking death, and he wasn’t in the mood to try and argue that it had happened. 

“I remembered,” he said and that pulled Bruce up short. 

“Oh,” he said quietly. Jason got a glimpse of the far away look in his eyes before Bruce pulled him in for a hug. He cupped the back of his head for a moment before pulling back and leading the two of them to the couch. They sat side by side in silence. 

“I died,” Jason repeated. “Is that… is that what’s wrong with me?” He uses an open hand to wave from his head down, encompassing all of him. 

Bruce clenched his jaw, looking like he was in pain. “There were some lasting complications,” he admitted. 

He stuck his hands under his thighs and wiggled his fingers as he turned that over in his head. Lasting complications. But from which: his death or his resurrection?

“I want to see,” he said, turning to look Bruce in the eye so he can see Jason was serious.

Bruce’s eyebrows scrunched together infinitesimally. “See what?” he asked. 

“The file.” Jason stressed the obvious. “I know you have one.” 

The furrow on Bruce’s forehead got deeper, and it was joined by a frown. The seconds ticked by, counted by the functional clock on Bruce’s desk. 

“Very well,” he said, like the words were painful to him. He stood up and offered Jason a hand, which Jason did not take because he didn’t need the help. He could walk fine now. 

“Now?” Bruce asked, and Jason nodded eagerly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for intentional, self-forced induction of vomiting. and like negative discussion of disability  
> please leave a comment <3


End file.
